


Stretched

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What effect does 80's Goth Rock have on our heroes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretched

## Stretched

by Jvantheterrible

Sentinel characters SOOOO don't belong to me. Just exercising my right to free speech while it still exists.

Hmmm.a little 'Dead Can Dance' can go a loooong way.

Dead Can Dance and old Irish Folk Songs RULE! 

* * *

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

I knew something was wrong as soon as I parked my truck and hopped out, pulling my black leather coat closed against the frigid February Cascade wind. I could smell snow in the air, and I hoped that Sandburg had a fire going...but all thoughts of toasty loft comfort dissipated when I opened up my hearing - as was my custom nowadays - to listen for my other half. I piggy-backed scent onto hearing, and frowned a bit as I realized that not only was there no fire, but Blair was in some sort of distress. His heartbeat was racing, and his breath was hitching, and aside from that, I scented another kind of salt in the air - and heard one of his 'I'm depressed as Hell' CD's playing in the background. 

I hurried up the three flights, the elevator out of order as usual, and fumbled in my pocket for the keys I'd dropped there after leaving my salt-encrusted Ford. I turned the doorknob and found the door not only unlocked (I swear, if I've told him once I've told him a million fucking times to lock the damn door after he comes in), but not even shut all the way. 

"Sandburg," I growled as I dropped my unneeded keys in the basket and locked the door behind me. I shucked off my coat, hanging it up quickly and heading into the living room to start the fireplace. Shivering a bit, I hurriedly turned the gas up extra high, jumping back a bit when the gas expelled with a very audible 'POOF', signalling that it was on now and I could go in search of my missing - and apparently very blue - partner. 

"Chief?" I asked as I moved through the loft, looking all around the living room and the kitchen for him. The music he was listening to froze me in my tracks - the song had apparently begun again - and ever so lightly, I could hear him singing along with what could only be some gothic throwback from the 80's... 

I am stretched on your grave  
And will lie there forever  
With your hands held in mine  
I'd be sure we'd not sever 

My apple tree my brightness  
'Tis time we were together  
For I smell of the earth  
And am slain by the weather 

I couldn't make my legs move; my feet wanted to carry me to Blair, to turn off the stereo and ask him what the fuck he was listening to, and why would he listen to such a macabre song, and what the hell happened to bring all this on? And then I remembered...it was just last week that I had told him to stay in the truck - again - and he had blatantly disobeyed me - again - and nearly gotten his own head blown off in the process. Never mind that he did save me from being shot - stuck as I was in a mini-Zone...I had told him to stay put, Goddammit! 

I shook my head to clear out the vivid memory, coming back to the here and now only to hear Blair sniffle a bit as the next verse began, the somber music enough to lull me into some sort of spell of my own. Instead of barging in on Sandburg, I stood where I'd stopped, several feet away from the french doors, and just listened to him. I could sense him listening intently...and feeling, and singing along, and before I knew it my heart was bursting with all sorts of emotions I'd been keeping pent up for - shit - years, if I were honest with myself. Blair's beautiful near-soprano voice accompanied the tenor of the goth pouring out his soul nearly perfectly, Sandburg obviously quite familiar with this particular piece of music. 

When my family thinks   
That I'm safe in my bed  
From night until morning  
I am stretched at your head 

Calling out to the air  
With tears both hot and wild  
Oh I grieve for the man  
That I loved as a child 

There was one big difference in that last verse, and I heard Blair sing it extra-loud over the recording...where he had sung, "I grieve for the man", the word was actually 'girl'...but Blair sang it as if his heart - or maybe even his very life - depended upon it. I felt another shiver go down my spine, but this one had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. I realized at that very moment why Blair Jacob Sandburg was still living in the little room underneath my stairs. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this man whom I called friend and partner. This young and brilliant college student that appeared to have the worst case of hero-worship ever recorded. This man that was some 14 years my junior and hung on every thought that might deign to cross my mind and every word that emanated from between my lips. This beautiful, young, wild thing that had come into my life some three years ago like a whirlwind...loved me. 

He was in love. With me. Me! James Joseph Ellison! The 40-something cop with the heart of stone that no one or no thing could penetrate. Me! The balding, crabby, ex-Covert Ops Military, donut-loving cop that women had stopped coming on to years ago. Young, sexy, brilliantly intelligent and articulate Guide was in love with older, still-in-pretty-damn-good-shape but extremely bitchy Sentinel. Sitting in his room, behind closed doors, pining for his clueless partner. Could it really, truly be so? I felt a lump in my throat as I took a couple steps towards his door, stopping once more just outside Blair's so-called safe haven to listen to the song - and his singing - come to an end simultaneously. 

The priests and the friars  
Behold me in dread  
Because I still love you  
My love and you're dead 

And would still be your shelter  
From rain and from storm  
But I'm with you in the cold wind  
I cannot sleep warm... 

He still didn't know that I was home, and as the music faded, I decided to make my move. I could hear the CD skip backwards, and I knew that he was going to wallow once more in the same song and the same melancholy. I could feel a draft coming from beneath the doors and I knocked a few times before I entered, giving him time to stop the CD and attempt to collect himself. There was no sound from within his little room save for the music starting again and his sniffling a little louder, so I pushed the doors open and walked in. 

It was no wonder I'd felt a draft and thought the loft particularly chilly; he was sitting by the fire escape on the ledge with the window wide open. The frigid night air was most likely freezing him to death minute by minute as he sat there, and the only movement he made when I strode in was to lift his head and meet my sad gaze with a desperate, pleading one of his own. His eyes were so blue - ice blue in this meat locker he'd managed to turn his room into - and he pleaded silently with me that first split second for understanding and for acceptance for what he was doing. I could no more deny him that acceptance than I could deny my lungs the oxygen they needed to keep me breathing. 

I rushed to his side and pulled him away from the ledge, yanking his smaller body into mine, wrapping my right arm around him bodily even as I slammed the window shut with my left hand and spun him so that his face was pressed against my chest. I moved us both to his bed long enough to grab his down comforter and pull it up, wrapping it around both of us, before I walked us into the living room and settled immediately in front of the fire. 

It didn't take much effort for me to get Blair seated in my lap so that I could wrap myself totally around him. Ignoring his soft cries of false protest when I embraced him in my arms, I rubbed my hands up and down his arms, making sure not to dislodge the down comforter wrapped around us, clucking at him like some deranged mother hen for being so thick-headed. I stopped being vocal in my attempts to warm him when he began to cry softly...the scent of his tears gave him away before his hitching chest would have physically clued me in, and I managed to hush myself so that he might explain himself. 

"Why, Chief?" I whispered into one still nearly frozen ear, "What were you thinking?" 

"Jim," he whispered...and that one syllable - that one little tiny three-lettered word that made me the man that I was and had been for the past 43 years...became my undoing. He put so much emotion into that one little word - my name - that I instantly found myself feeling as lost as he most certainly felt. I froze in mid-ministration, my hands resting on Blair's elbows where they'd previously been trying to warm him from the outside in. 

"What is it? God, Blair..." my voice came out as nothing more than a whisper, and I found myself hanging on nothing more than his heartbeat, craving his next word or words more than the air I needed to breathe. 

"I...I cuh-huh..." his voice trailed off as violent shivering kicked in and stole his words; I pulled him closer to me and rubbed his arms once more, doing everything I could think of to warm him as quickly as possible. The comforter was soaking up my body heat in earnest now, and I did the only thing I could think of to warm Blair faster. I released Sandburg quickly and efficiently and stood, stripping my clothes off as fast as I could in front of him. He stared up at me, confused as a newborn pup that's just opened its eyes, and I had to break the silence and spur him into action. 

"Look, Chief. If you want to get warmed up, the best thing you can do is follow my lead, here. I swear to all the Gods that I won't touch you in any funny way...but for the love of all that is holy, strip so I can get some fucking heat into you...you're not gonna' freeze to death in our living room!" I finished up with a voice that could only be construed as somewhat hysterical, but several seconds later - and still not having uttered another syllable - Sandburg was as naked as....well, me...and he sat back down in my lap, allowing me to enfold him once more in bodily - and quilted - heat. 

I closed my eyes and let myself drift on the inhaled scents from his body and most especially, his hair. That auburn circus of curls rested directly beneath my nose, tickling my probiscus at the same time it soothed my craving for his smell. The unscented shampoo and conditioner he used every day gave way to pure Sandburgian Essence...I was hooked like a junkie out for a fix after three days of fasting. Christ, he smelled so good - and it wasn't anything like cologne or deodorant or anything of the sort. This was pure Blairscent; no dyes or perfumes or chemicals to interact with my senses. This was the smell of panic...and sweat...and desperation...and lust...and what I came to understand, finally, as Blairlove. It was the finest scent of any I'd ever experienced, artificially or otherwise, and no other inhalant would ever rival it...even the lackluster scentless - but necessary - oxygen. 

"Jim," he began once more, and I nearly lost my hold on him in my excitement to hear his next words. I clutched him that much closer to me so that he could chuckle - albeit still a bit watery - as I pulled the comforter up around us and inched towards the fire in order to keep him warmed. 

"Yes, Blair," I replied softly into his right ear, nuzzling the curls with my chin as I replied - and revelling in the feel of his now-thawed and most likely totally Jim-induced shudder, hugging him one iota closer to me as his chest rumbled with a silent laugh. 

"I'm with you in the cold wind, and I...I can't sleep warm," he mumbled, kissing my forearm where it was within reach of his lips as I continued to caress his arms in an effort to make him warmer. I surprised myself with my response, quoting the damned goth-rocker that had brought us to this point in the first place. 

"Blair Sandburg," I said as I straightened up (and yes, my cock was most likely nudging his gorgeous young ass at this point - I can't remember because it all happened so fast after I spoke), "I will be your shelter from rain and from storm. And there's no need for you to sleep anything BUT warm, because I'll shelter you in my arms. I'll shelter you from the cold, and the loneliness, and I'll wrap myself around you until you forget where you end and I begin...or where I end and you begin." 

"Jim," my Guide whispered in the middle of my rant, and I merely shushed him and enfolded him in my arms so that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, his smooth and muscular back resting against my (hey, he'd said washboard last Summer) ribs and stomach. 

"Sssshhh...Chief, I'm not finished. No priests and friars will hold you in dread because the only place that you will be resting is at my head...but not the one in your goddamned depressing song, Sandburg." 

"JIM," Blair hissed at me, pretending to pull away from me - only to insinuate himself further into my lap - as he mock-protested my own revision to the old Irish folk song. 

"Chief," I continued on, smiling a bit into the top of his head, ignoring both my hardon and his newfound interest in wiggling and pressing down into my lap, "I will hold your hands in mine until the day we both die. I will make sure that we're together always." I pushed him bodily out of my lap and turned him around so that he was on his knees in front of me and could see my face; could gaze into my eyes with his own. I wrapped the quilt around his shoulders and held him firmly out at arm's length, ensuring that he both saw and heard - and effectively felt - every word that I uttered next. 

"My Sentinel," Blair whispered to me, and I merely smiled and shook my head a bit, indicating that I had a few more important things to say. He nodded at me, silently giving me permission to complete my claim... 

"My Guide," I began, and I swallowed harshly to clear the lump in my throat that appeared when I watched his eyes glaze over as I continued, "You'll never be slain by the weather. I will always be here at your side to keep you safe and warm and protected. I am your Sentinel, Blair. Your Sentinel and so much more..." I had to stop and clear my throat...and I reached out and wiped the tears from Sandburg's cheeks, toying with the droplets on my fingertips before I went on. 

"You do smell of the earth, Blair. You smell of life, and light, and love. You smell of the university and youth...and the air...and the paper of the books that you hold dearest. You do not hold the scent of the dirt that you would join in song about - the very earth that would cover me and keep me from you on the darkest day that you might imagine. That day does not exist, my love." I heard his sudden intake of breath at my statement, and I hurriedly continued on with my own rant, not wanting him to be caught up in my own romantic meanderings. This was, after all, bigger than a mere song on one of Sandburg's post-modern neo-hippie witch-doctor punk recordings. "You keep your hot and wild tears for something else entirely, you hear me, Chief? I've got all the hot and wild you need." 

**XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

It didn't necessarily come as that much of a surprise when mere seconds later, I found myself rutting up into a very turned-on Blair Sandburg-cum partner-cum Chief, who was humping me for all he was worth and sucking the very life out of me with his lips, hands, and tongue. And did I neglect to mention a certain appendage that, despite his handler's neglect, insisted upon being acquiesced? 

I could feel his cock digging into my thigh, and I shifted so that his hardness was creating delicious friction against my own; I reached down and grabbed his muscular asscheeks and helped him grind into me, panting as I was, thrusting back into him for all I was worth. Apparently, the fire and my meager attempt at words had heated him up to the bone (er, truth be told...). 

"Sandburg," I moaned into his wild curls, pulling him ever closer to me. I humped up into him as he ground back down into me, his cock delightfully stifling my own, "FUCK...Blair, that's so good Chief, ohhhhggggaaawwwdddd..." and my words were lost as he spouted both philosophically and physically, allowing us to slide together more easily. 

"Jiiimmmmm...mmmmmggawwwdddd," was all he had to say as he shuddered in post-orgasmic release and collapsed atop my heaving and profusely sweating chest. I thrust up into his groin twice more, his own release finally coaxing mine out of me...it's been so fucking long since I felt anything akin to this. My breath catches in my throat for a split second as I attempt to recall and pick apart the last few minutes...and then I let it all out with a huge 'WHOOSH'. 

I can feel Blair Jacob Sandburg's full weight on top of me, and his cock is still tingling, and I can still feel it against my own. And I open up my arms and let him wriggle closer to me; our sweat mingles and congeals as the silent moments pass, our heaving breaths the only audible witness to our souls' merging. I can feel Blair's arms close around me, his arms forcing their way under my exhausted back in order to hold me close, the shared cum sealing us together the only physical witness to our souls' merging. 

And I know that once and for all, beyond a shadow of a doubt...that I'm going to get that CD out of Blair's stereo and snap it in half so that he's not blue anymore. This is the third time this week that he's pulled this stunt, and by Gods, I'm putting my foot - and various other parts of me - down (but not for too long...). 

(BTW...This is for Mysti. My damned inconstant muse (AND subsequent RL) won't allow me to meet deadlines for story submissions OR even to amuse visitors to my WAYYYYY outdated website...but every so often, she'll allow me to write. This was a spur of the moment - and much dreaded - SONGFIC. Hope you liked it.) 

* * *

End Stretched by Jvantheterrible: duranjaxter@comcast.net

Author and story notes above.

  
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